


The Love Light

by apliddell



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hints of praise kink, M/M, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), adult conversations, aziraphale is not human, aziraphale's wings, crowley is not over the fire, the thing about joy is that you make it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: Crowley is still getting used to being in love with Aziraphale out loud. Fortunately they have an opportunity to practise.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 324





	The Love Light

“Crowley! Hello my dear!” 

Crowley looked up from stroking the sleeve of a very nice velvet dinner jacket to see Aziraphale pushing past a mannequin toward him from across the crowded department store. The mannequin had the good manners to take a couple of steps back from him, and Crowley didn’t blame it. There was something very immense about Aziraphale’s smiling visage, even under his trapper cap, which would have looked quite silly on him if it had dared. The other shoppers rather scurried out of Aziraphale’s path also. Dazzling brightness and warmth radiated from him, starlike. 

“Hullo Angel,” Crowley squinted through his shades when Aziraphale arrived at his side. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Mmm and what brings you here, then? Same as me, I suppose. Bit of shopping.” 

It was true enough, but somehow Crowley didn’t like to admit it, “Oh just a little mischief. Sample every single cologne, then get into a crowded lift. Give people bad advice about hats. That sort of thing.” 

Aziraphale leaned in and sniffed, “You smell all right to me.”

Crowley went a little warm at that and shuffled backward, “Well I couldn’t just walk around like that all day.” 

Aziraphale laughed, “No, I suppose not. Gosh, but I have missed you, Crowley. Have you been quite well? Will you let me treat you to cocoa?”

Crowley shrugged, “Been a little out of sorts, I suppose. It’s always dark out. And sleety.”

“So it is. You ought to come round the bookshop where it’s lovely and warm and cosy. Indoors is even more delicious by contrast when it’s wretched out, don’t you think? And it’s nice to peep out of the window with a hot mug in your hands and watch all the fairy lights twinkling. Even the mud puddles look rather magical under that, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Crowley coughed into the funny little silence that followed, “Cocoa sounds lovely.”

“Lovely,” Aziraphale linked his arm with Crowley’s. “Have you finished your shopping? I wouldn’t want to interrupt.” 

“Suppose so. I don’t know what to,” Crowley checked himself. “I was really just browsing. Er in between mischief.” 

Aziraphale laughed warmly as he steered them toward the door, “Of course. Oh Crowley, I can’t get over how pleased I am to see you, dear boy. I was actually going to ring you up when I got in today and and invite you to come and help me choose a tree, and now you’ve saved me a phone call.” 

“Choose a tree?”

“Mm and trim it.” 

“You still go in for all that, even after. Everything.”

“Well,” said Aziraphale thoughtfully. He miracled a bag of roasted chestnuts and offered the first bite to Crowley. “It’s not that I’m celebrating exactly. I mean I suppose I am a bit. Only. It didn’t come down from u--er from Heaven you know--anyway, they’re the ones who invented it really--the humans I mean-- and it’s  _ for  _ them. Only there’s so much,” he sniffed deeply the way he sometimes did when walking into a bakery. “There’s so much ambient love and hope and joy in the air. It makes one quite giddy. Can’t you feel it?”

Crowley sniffed also. “Icy puddles,” he announced. “Slick pavement. Sore throats and sore noses. Undernotes of greed and anxiety. Hint of nervous breakdown.” 

Aziraphale shrugged, “Ah well. It’s very strong to me.” He sniffed again, “Makes me eager to do lovely things with lovely people.” And he touched Crowley’s elbow and smiled quite a crackling fire of a smile. 

…

  
  


“Tell me, was your mother a beanstalk? And your dad a single blade of grass? Because you’re a disgrace to the name of evergreen. Just look at yourself. That spindly and needles dropping already. What we want is  _ lush _ and  _ fragrant _ ! ” the tree quavered under Crowley’s glare. “Not that it matters,” he continued. “In a month,” he drew his finger across his throat. “Mulch.” The tree trembled even harder, dropped a number of needles, and dripped a bit of sap on the toe of Crowley’s boots for good measure. 

“My  _ dear _ boy, what on Earth are you doing to that Christmas tree?” Aziraphale swept up and batted at Crowley’s arm, “Now there’s no need for that.” He turned to the tree, “You’re a very good, charming, plucky little thing, aren’t you? Your smell really is just wonderful. And you’ll hold ever so many baubles! Just fancy being all lit up and with a lovely star at the tip top. Oh you’re going to make someone so very happy.” Aziraphale took Crowley by the arm and led him away, “You mustn’t menace them, darling; they are what they are. Come and look at this one. It’s absolutely perfect.” 

So it was. Full and bushy and about as tall as Crowley himself with glossy dark green needles and a wonderfully green spicy smell. Crowley could not find a thing wrong with it, and he wondered if perhaps it’d enhanced itself under Aziraphale’s fawning. Aziraphale booked a delivery to the bookshop and then tucked his hand into Crowley’s elbow and they preceded the tree back to the shop. 

...

The front of the shop was dim, dingy, and musty as ever, but Aziraphale zipped right through, pausing only to turn the sign round to OPEN and lock the door carefully behind him. The back of the shop was cosy and lovely. Crowley dropped comfortably onto the sofa and leaned against one of the plump red velvet cushions, then dug down the side of the sofa for the copy of  _ Fellowship of the Rings _ that he was very slowly making his way through, a handful of pages at a time whenever he happened to sit on that particular sofa. 

Aziraphale bustled about, first laying a fire, then he went into his little kitchen and after a good deal of banging and clattering, a delicious smell of cinnamon and cloves and Crowley rather thought oranges began to waft out from it. 

Aziraphale reappeared presently with two mugs of mulled wine and brought one to Crowley, “Here you are, my dear.” He raised his glass, “Merry Christmas, my love. And a happy new year.”

Crowley splayed the book on the arm of the sofa--an absolutely forbidden manoeuvre-- and raised his own mug, “Cheers Angel. And the same to you.” They tapped their mugs together and drank, and Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him. They had shared a handful of  _ So pleased we aren’t dead _ kisses when the world didn’t end, and Crowley had been hungry for more, but unsure of how to bring them about. This kiss thrilled him and warmed him right down to his toes, just as much as a draught from his mug of wine. 

Aziraphale kissed him again, “Ah, you feel it now, don’t you? I feel you feeling it.” He stroked Crowley’s cheek, his eyes shut as if savouring some delightful bouquet. 

Crowley blushed, “Nnnfngk.” He sipped his wine and tried again, “I love you.” That wasn’t exactly what he’d meant to say exactly, but Aziraphale seemed pleased. 

“Yes,” he beamed. “Quite right, too.” 

Crowley grinned into his mug, “Cheeky, Angel.”

“Learnt from the b-my  _ dear _ boy, what on  _ earth _ have you done to my book?! That is an inscribed first edition! Jirt himself put it into my hands, and you’ve-”

“Sorry, Angel! Sorry sorry sorry!” Crowley hastily righted the book and miracled the creases out of the pages. “What in the world is Jirt?”

Aziraphale snatched the book back and sent it sailing off to its proper shelf, “I’ve half a mind to send you off to Waterstones and buy a  _ paperback _ .” 

Crowley tried not to laugh, “What’s wrong with paperbacks?”

“You see, that question is why you deserve them!” 

“I’m  _ sorry _ , Angel! I’m sorry! I’ll try and keep my snakey fingers off your first editions. Maybe you ought to make a Crowley shelf of books I’m allowed to handle just because I want to know what happens in them. Or maybe I ought to break down and buy a Kindle.” 

“I don’t know what that is,” sniffed Aziraphale. “And I don’t care to. Apology accepted.” 

Crowley allowed himself to smile, “Magnanimous, heavenly virtue.” 

“Oh shut up.” 

“The grace. The clemency!”

Aziraphale huffed in a way that showed he actually quite enjoyed huffing, “You are lucky that I love you even when you’re naughty.”

Crowley laughed and swigged his wine, “I think the humans have got a word for that. Might begin with a k? You want to look into it, Angel. I think it’ll serve you well.” 

“Hmph,” Aziraphale got up from the sofa, but he kissed Crowley on the forehead before he swept off to put the Nutcracker Suite on the gramophone. 

Crowley finished his wine and leaned back on the sofa to enjoy listening to Aziraphale muttering to himself as he hunted for something or other. After a bit, Aziraphale returned levitating a dusty old trunk in front of him, and he lowered it gently to the ground near the sofa. Whatever was inside it jingled anyway. 

“My dear, I’ve an invitation for you,” Aziraphale brushed his hands as if they’d gotten dusty from the levitation. 

Crowley sat up, “Let’s have it, then.” 

Aziraphale perched on the arm of the sofa, “Would you like to stay for Christmas? It’ll be so jolly having you here all the time.” 

Crowley grinned, “Absolutely. Love to.”

“Lovely,” said Aziraphale, and he smiled so sweetly that Crowley leaned in and kissed him. 

…

Crowley nipped out to his flat to collect his jimjams and his toothbrush, and on his way back to Aziraphale’s, he stopped to buy a bag of satsumas and because they were cleverly arranged near the shop counter, he upsold himself a few sprigs of mistletoe as well. Crowley found himself arriving back at the bookshop at the same time as the tree delivery. 

Crowley stroked the door handle under the suspicious eye of the delivery man, and the door popped open for him, “Aziraphale, tree’s here! Come and say where you want it.” 

“Ah hello,” Aziraphale came hurrying to the door with a streak of dust on his cheek and a thread of tinsel stuck in his curls, “Do come in.” 

“Here in the window?” offered the delivery man.

“Heavens, no!” said Aziraphale. “Bring it straight through to the back and let’s hope no one saw you or they might have a mind to come in and try and do some Christmas shopping in here.” 

“I thought you said you wanted to do lovely things with lovely people,” Crowley followed, peeling a satsuma. 

“Christmas shopping in my bookshop is not a lovely thing, and customers are  _ not _ lovely people,” said Aziraphale severely. “Stop being silly.” 

“You like me silly,” Crowley put the entire satsuma into his mouth at once and began to peel another. “Thrza wrd fr ‘t th yr pl’ing t lk ‘p inna dkshry.” 

“No one can understand a thing you’re saying,” Aziraphale turned his back on Crowley like a grumpy old cat. “Just here, thank you,” he gestured to the spot in his sitting room that he’d obviously cleared to make way for the tree. “Lovely.”

“Looks bigger in here, don’t you think?” Crowley remarked when the man had gone. “It’s quite a tree tree, isn’t it?” 

“I suppose it is a bit of a tight fit,” Aziraphale looked hard at the place where it was bulging onto a side table, and then suddenly it wasn’t. “Oh thank you, how considerate.” 

“I suppose you’ve got baubles and things,” Crowley held out a segment of his satsuma, and Aziraphale nodded and opened his mouth to accept it. Crowley tucked in the fruit, and if his hand lingered, it was probably unintentional, and if Aziraphale kissed his fingertips, it was probably even more unintentional. 

Crowley coughed, “I suppose you could even miracle it dressed. In fact, I will, if you like.” He raised his hand in offer. 

“Don’t you dare! I do have baubles, and you’re going to help me hang them. The mortal way. With our hands and everything.” 

…

“Did you happen to nick these off Queen Victoria?” Crowley held up an elderly lace snowflake and was abruptly obliged to turn his head and sneeze into his elbow. They had pushed the coffee table aside and were sat on the floor on either side of Aziraphale’s trunk of baubles, and hanging whatever pleased them on whichever bits of tree they could reach. It was going to look dreadfully haphazard, and Crowley suspected Aziraphale would miracle it even when he wasn’t looking. He sneezed again. 

Aziraphale offered his hankie, “Ever favoured with your sparkling wit. How did I get to be so lucky?” 

Crowley accepted the handkerchief and hung the snowflake, “Or was it the other way round and it was the queen who got a little familiar with your bauble trunk?”

“Everything you see here, I made myself,” said Aziraphale loftily, undoing a bundle of paper and string to reveal a holly and ivy garland that smelt of old silk. “It’s part of the charm.”

Crowley whistled, “That reminds me of your time in that convent round about the sixteenth century, I think it was. You got rather on your DIY high horse, didn’t you.” 

“Hardly the highest of my horses, dearest.” 

“The higher ones are less fun to tease about,” said Crowley with the lurking suspicion that he was unintentionally paraphrasing something he’d read in a book at some point, perhaps on the very sofa against which his back was planted. “Does this mean you haven’t got fairy lights?”

“I use candles.” 

“Candles! You’ll burn the shop to the ground that way, Angel.”

“Fraser wouldn’t do that to me, would you, dear?” Aziraphale patted the nearest bough in an interesting mix of affectionate and threatening. 

“Fraser?”

“That’s what sort of tree she is. A Fraser fir. We’re on a first name basis, because we’re chums.” 

Crowley laughed, “That’s not the same thing as a name, you know. You don’t even know her proper name; why shouldn’t she burn the shop down if you cover her in candles?” 

“She’s a guest, and she’s much too polite to do anything like that.  _ You _ wouldn’t burn the shop down, would you, dear?” Aziraphale tapped Crowley’s knee to indicate the change in the object of his address. 

Crowley didn’t answer straight away. There was a roar of licking flames in his ears, and the choking smell of smoke and ash, and he had to shut his eyes against the dazzle of sparks. He knew it wasn’t real, so he sat quite still, waiting for the vision to leave him. 

Aziraphale’s hand on his knee startled him. He hadn’t heard Aziraphale creep nearer, and he started at the touch with a little cry. 

“Are you all right, my love?” 

Crowley shook his head, held up one finger, and when the panic didn’t abate, he shifted into his serpent form and slithered under the sofa. 

Aziraphale peered after him anxiously, “I’m so sorry, dearest. Thoughtless of me. We can have fairy lights, of course. Much safer. You’re right. I didn’t think.” 

Crowley wanted to say that wasn’t quite it, but he still didn’t trust his voice. He reached out from under the sofa and wrapped his tail around Aziraphale’s wrist. 

Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s tail and continued in his softest voice, “I didn’t see it when it happened, my dear. I don’t remember it as you do. But it was so. So thoughtless of me not to be mindful of what you’ve been through. I am terribly sorry. I shall be more careful.” 

Crowley came out from under the sofa and pushed himself into Aziraphale’s lap, “Sorry Angel. Just. A bit of a sticky moment.” 

“Of course,” Aziraphale stroked the top of his head, “It happens to the best of us.” 

Crowley heaved a little sigh and shifted back into his human form so as to enjoy the head stroking better. 

Aziraphale kissed the top of his head, “Let’s leave this for a bit. I think I promised you some cocoa.” 

...

“Go on then, Angel. I’ll bite,” Crowley drawled into the dregs of his cocoa mug. 

“Hmm?” Aziraphale peered over the rims of his spectacles. Crowley knew for a fact that Aziraphale, being ethereal, could see a good deal better than perfect and only wore those spectacles because he thought he looked sexy in them. Crowley privately agreed that Aziraphale looked appallingly sexy in his spectacles, which was only even privately admissible because Aziraphale could never say the word ‘sexy’ and therefore could never press the matter. Still the presence of the spectacles often rather muddled Crowley. 

In short it took him a beat to answer Aziraphale, as he’d already forgotten what he was biting, “You’ve had that book memorised for about a hundred years, I think.” 

Aziraphale pursed his lips to prevent the smile escaping, “Eighty-seven.” 

“You’re reading it now, because you want to read it to me. Go on, then. If you’re determined.” 

“I’m reading it now,” Aziraphale tossed his head, “because it is cosy, and because I have raised cosiness to an art form.”

“Mmm,” agreed Crowley, clicking to refill both their mugs with cocoa and clicking again for Aziraphale’s extra marshmallows. “Well. I’m right here.” 

“Well come a bit closer, if you’d like,” Aziraphale waited, and Crowley moved from the armchair he occupied to the sofa beside Aziraphale and then, after Aziraphale patted his lap, shifted to lie on his back and rest his head on his angel’s hip. “There now,” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair, his cheek, his chin. “An art form.” 

Crowley shut his eyes with a sigh, “Truly.” 

Aziraphale arranged the book and turned it back to the beginning, “‘Here is Edward Bear coming down the stairs now…’”

…

“So that gives me 524,” crowed Aziraphale “and you 317. Oh admirable show, my dear. Terribly good. Still I’m afraid you’ve got to drink now.” 

Crowley poured the last of his wine down his throat directly and set his glass down with rather a smack on the coffee table with a quick miracle to stop it shattering. “I do know you cheated, of course,” he remarked pleasantly. 

“Me?!”

“Kind of fantastic luck to have all the right tiles for ‘quartzy’ in your first hand, don’t you think?”

“You supplied the ‘a’ my dear. Credit where it’s due.” Aziraphale tossed his head, “And anyway isn’t my fault the tiles like me. I’m polite to them; it makes a difference.”

“Cheating,” agreed Crowley. “That’s what I just said. Say, Angel,” he got up from his seat and came and perched on Aziraphale’s lap, “Sober up with me. I want to ask you about something.” 

“Right-o,” Aziraphale screwed up his face to banish the alcohol from his system, and Crowley did the same, holding Aziraphale about the neck so that he didn’t slip off his angel’s lap and onto the floor with the effort. When they were sober, Aziraphale gave Crowley a little pat, “Did you need something, my dear?”

“I.” Crowley braced his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder, “I worked up the nerve to tell you something while I was drunk during Scrabble, and now I’ve sobered up.” Aziraphale seemed to have started glowing again, which made Crowley blush, “Anyway, I think you may have. Guessed.” 

Aziraphale glowed brighter, “Is it. Was it a remark of. A sensual, intimate nature?” 

Crowley suspected he might be glowing a bit himself, “You’re doing that on purpose.” 

“I’m trying to help, my dear,” purred Aziraphale. 

“Say ‘fuck’ once.” 

Aziraphale laughed a rather filthy laugh against Crowley’s neck, “I have, and it did  _ nothing _ for the mood.” 

Crowley raised his head so sharply that he almost caught Aziraphale in the mouth, “To whom?!” 

“Not that sort of fuck, dearest.” 

“Right. Sorry,” Crowley rested his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

Aziraphale petted Crowley’s hair, “Perhaps you were only going to do the trick where you make your hair grow longer as an angel trap.” 

“Not  _ any _ angel,” Crowley protested. “But good idea,” he tossed his head, growing his hair out as he did so that it whapped them both in the face. “Pleh!” said Crowley, spitting it out. 

Aziraphale gamely did not laugh, but drew back a wave of Crowley’s hair and tucked it behind his ear, “If what you really want to get is the other thing, you know you’ve got to say so.” 

Crowley nodded fervidly, “The other thing.”

“Splendid.” Aziraphale kissed his neck, “If you see a stray wing or so, just push it back in, will you?”

Crowley didn’t intend to answer, but the kissing tickled wonderfully, and he spilled a few giggles. 

“Good?” Aziraphale paused in kissing Crowley, his nose just barely brushing Crowley’s throat. 

“Flnngk!” Crowley agreed, nodding. 

“Should we get a little more comfortable?” Azirapale toyed with the very ends of Crowley’s ringlets. 

Crowley shut his eyes so as to appreciate the touch better and to keep from falling over from the sheer luxury of it, “C-comfortable? Mmhm yes, I'd be in favour of that.”

“Hold onto me then,” Aziraphale hugged Crowley tight to him and a warm shiver passed over Crowley and he found that they were up above the shop in Aziraphale’s little nook of a bedroom. 

“Are you going to make me watch you try on cravats?” 

Aziraphale smiled, “Is that something you find exciting, my dear?”

“Funny angel. Go back to kissing.”

“Right-o,” Aziraphale did go back to kissing, easing Crowley back against the headboard and nuzzling along his collar and up his jaw. Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s bottom and tried not to squirm too hard. 

Presently Crowley cleared his throat, “I’ll get out of this, shall I? My kit, I mean.” 

“May I?” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s topmost button, which was actually his third button because he liked for his collarbones to get plenty of fresh air and sunshine. 

“Please.” 

Aziraphale undressed Crowley languidly, dropping a tingly kiss on each new bit of skin he revealed, so that Crowley was buzzing and ticklish and blushing furiously and had to keep shutting his eyes, but when Crowley was completely naked, he opened his eyes and found that Aziraphale was also. 

“I’d’ve done that for you,” said Crowley, trying not to gape at Aziraphale’s handsome, fat, rosy erection. 

“Oh it was no trouble, but I shall certainly remember for next time. Now how do we like to proceed?” 

Crowley shut his eyes again so that he could think, “Well. I. Er hmm,” he had a specific goal, or pair of goals rather, in mind, but he felt that they could probably be taken as read and it was the getting there process being inquired after. “I’m not fussy.” 

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully and kissed the crook of Crowley’s bent knee, “Since this is our first time, it’s rather a complex question, isn’t it? Forgive me dear, I’m going to be a little blunt with you. I know it isn’t terribly romantic, but it’ll help us have a nice time together.” And he paused when he finished to show it was a real asking. Crowley gave him the thumbs up. “Lovely. Now. Would you prefer to lie flat or sit up? You do look lovely flat on your back, but there are certain advantages as to leverage if you sit up.” 

Crowley pushed himself a bit more upright against the headboard, “We do love leverage.” 

“Excellent,” Aziraphale kissed him. “Would you prefer to orgasm first or second?” 

Crowley was compelled to bury his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder against a fit of laughter, “Sorry, I’m sorry. It’s a really good question.”

“I’m only trying to be helpful,” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s back, rather bemused. 

“Please fill in this brief questionnaire regarding your logistical preferences, and your Angel will fit you with the sexual encounter that best suits your needs.” 

Aziraphale huffed, “Well, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s cheek. “Nothing at all. You’re so conscientious and attentive. You come first. I get quite noodly in the wake, and I’m even more useless.” 

“Not useless,” said Aziraphale firmly. 

Crowley pulled Aziraphale close and tucked himself under his angel’s arm against his side, “We’ll see, I suppose. Would you prefer my hands or my mouth?” 

“Both,” and because Aziraphale’s erection was too polite to dwindle when it was being discussed in the abstract and neglected in the material and so was still very ready to join in the proceedings, Crowley got straight to work. Aziraphale had a lovely cock, and Crowley was very taken with it. He leaned into Aziraphale’s lap and kissed and licked that pretty pink cock, til Aziraphale was sighing and squirming and had grasped a delightfully unmannerly handful of Crowley’s hair. Crowley grew his hair out even more and took Aziraphale into his mouth. 

Aziraphale shuddered, “Oooooh!”

“Mmmmmm,” Crowley agreed wetly through his mouthful of Aziraphale’s cock so that Aziraphale’s hips rocked. Crowley crowded a bit more of himself onto Aziraphale’s lap and raised his head briefly, “Don’t push me off now, Angel.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” rasped Aziraphale. Crowley found the raspiness very inspiring, and he took Aziraphale in again, deeper than before and he bobbed and slurped and squeezed so mercilessly that it was only a very few minutes before Aziraphale was shaking and groaning and coming. 

Crowley wiped his swollen mouth and rested his head on Aziraphale’s knee. His eyes were watering because Aziraphale was still rather pulling his hair, but he was beaming, “All right, Angel?”

“Come up here and kiss me, or I’m sure I’ll discorporate.” 

Crowley sat up, and Aziraphale pulled him onto his lap and kissed him, hugged him, dragged one hand down his chest and over his belly, “May I hold you while I bring you off, dearest?” 

Crowley let his head fall back against Aziraphale’s shoulder and murmured his assent. 

“Lovely,” breathed Aziraphale, warm against Crowley’s ear. He nudged Crowley’s thighs apart by bringing his knee up between them and hovered his free hand in front of Crowley’s face, “Lick, please.” Crowley hastened to obey, and Aziraphale drew slippery fingers up Crowley’s perineum and delicate fingernails down Crowley’s chest, and Crowley trembled and tingled and clutched at one of Aziraphale’s soft thighs, and tried not to thrash. 

Aziraphale’s hand wandered down from Crowley’s chest to his cock and gave him a little squeeze, and it was such a lovely warm, slick hand, but the pressure wasn’t quite enough to release the tension winding in his belly. Crowley rocked impatiently in Aziraphale’s arms, and Aziraphale laughed into his hair and swirled a lazy thumb over the head of Crowley’s cock, quite slowly and pausing now and then to tease the foreskin between two fingers. Crowley leaked sweet, silly sounds onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, and Aziraphale stroked him unhurriedly, his thumb still slow and gentle on the head. 

Crowley drummed his feet on the mattress, “ _ Aziraphale! _ Get  _ on  _ with it!”

“Bossy,” said Aziraphale, his voice as warm and fond as his hand on Crowley’s cock. And he squeezed Crowley’s cock hard and pressed one finger inside Crowley, and Crowley, with a sort of honk of surprise came hot over Aziraphale’s fist. 

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek, “Goodness! I shall have to remember that in future.” 

“Yeah, definitely file that one away for next time,” Crowley sagged out of Aziraphale’s lap and lay boneless on the bed, his legs over Aziraphale’s, “You’ve got a wing coming out of your forehead. Did you know? Bit addled, maybe? That’s quite flattering, actually. For me. Still I’d push it back in like you said, but,” he held up an arm and then let it thump onto the mattress next to him as if to demonstrate his noodly uselessness.

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s hand and settled onto the bed next to him, “Oh I’ll see to it later; it isn’t doing any harm.” He pulled Crowley a bit closer, and Crowley laid his head on Aziraphale’s chest, “It’s nice to relax, isn’t it?”

Crowley shut his eyes, and sank deeper into his contentment like it was a hot bath, “Yeah. It is.” 

…

“Shall we do your stocking?” 

Crowley waited a few beats, because Aziraphale was scraping Crowley’s scalp with his fingernails, and Crowley felt that the matter deserved his full attention, “How’d you know I was awake so quick?” 

Aziraphale shimmered a little laugh and sniffed rapturously, “Oh, you know; you do it too.” 

Crowley sniffed also, “Are you saying you  _ smell _ my consciousness?” 

“Oh no, I don’t say that exactly,” Aziraphale began to put a little plait in Crowley’s hair. “Though it does have a smell, of course.” 

Crowley shut his eyes and digested that, “Did I hear you say something about a stocking?”

“You did, my dear. I’ve got something for you, Crowley.” 

“Have you?” Crowley opened his eyes. “Like a present?” He sat up, grinning foolishly, “You got me a present?” 

Aziraphale held out a white feather half again as long as his hand, “A bookmark.” 

Crowley took it. He couldn’t say why precisely, but there was a vague, fragrant, aziraphaleness about it, and he popped the notion into his pocket to show to Aziraphale later. It was a lovely feather, bright white with a little golden sheen and glossy, as if freshly preened. It made him long to see Aziraphale’s wings, and he realised with a little thrill that he might just ask, and Aziraphale would be happy enough to show him. He brushed the feather against his cheek and mastered the urge to hide his face, “It’s beautiful.” 

“And there’s no need to try and keep track of it between books, because it just nips back into nonbeing when you don’t need it.”

Crowley scoffed at the idea that he’d let it and miracled himself a shirt and jacket so that he could tuck the feather lovingly into his breast pocket. 

“I got you something as well,” he confessed. 

Aziraphale slipped a hand under his jacket and scratched his back, “Did you?”

“It’s a bit silly, I suppose. An umbrella.” 

Aziraphale smiled, “I like that. Rather perfect, actually. An umbrella. It is big enough for two, isn’t it?” 

Crowley found Aziraphale’s hand in the blankets and pressed it, “Of course it is.” 


End file.
